


Wishes Not Meant to Come True

by NeuroWriter14



Series: Ways Back To You [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Do not repost, Hannibal Lecter Escapes, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, Struggles with mental illness, Suicide Attempt, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26240626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14
Summary: A year after Hannibal handed himself over to Jack, Will can't take it anymore. With Hannibal behind bars, there suddenly feels like there is no need for Will Graham. Hannibal can't stay away.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Ways Back To You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904167
Comments: 18
Kudos: 356





	Wishes Not Meant to Come True

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please take care of yourselves guys. If you are triggered by a suicide attempt and struggles with mental illness, be wary when reading this story.

Hannibal stood as Alana entered, rising from the barebones bed he was allowed in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

His trial had ended six months ago and he was officially found insane. From there, he was remanded to BSHCI under the care of Alana Bloom, who took over the facility from Frederick Chilton. Under Alana's care, he was kept separate from the rest of the population in his own room. Two of the walls were plain white with nothing exciting about them. The back wall was a bricked-up fireplace with several bookshelves embedded into the walls. Over the last six months, Hannibal had started filling those shelves with books and drawings. His cot was placed against one wall with a bolted-down metal desk and chair in the center. The other wall of the room was not a wall at all but instead a massive piece of glass with a metal container to pass things back and forth and several holes to allow conversation to move through. On the other side was another desk, this one wooden, and a rather comfortable looking chair. The other half of the room looked more like a parlor, especially when compared to his half. But he was content to wait here until it was time. Until Will came for him again.

Alana was sweeter on him that she should be, allowing him books, pencils, and paper for his drawings and to amuse himself. There was a skylight above him that provided light even well into the night. Some nights he could even see the moon and some part of him was comforted by the fact that it was the same moon Will would look at if he were outside.

Hannibal's surrender and subsequent incarceration were all rather cordial. He didn't fight, he didn't run. He waited. Frederick, Alana, and even Will lied. For him. For themselves. It didn't really matter. Will hadn't looked at him during the trial. Alana and Frederick, even Jack did. But Will's eyes were always elsewhere and after his testimony, he was gone for good. And here Hannibal was a year after his surrender. It rather felt like he was in a stasis of sort. He wasn't awake, not really. Most of the time was spent somewhere in his mind palace. He risked, one time, visiting the rooms where ghosts haunted. Mischa, his parents, his aunt and uncle. He didn't return to those rooms. He did, however, find himself returning over and over to Will and the rooms the other had seemingly claimed for himself in his mind. 

When Alana walked into the room, he would admit it was an unexpected surprise. Alana was supposed to off on maternity leave, leaving the facility to Frederick Chilton for the time being. Frederick used the time mostly to talk to Hannibal and work on his book. He wouldn't deny he was looking forward to writing his rebuttal of Frederick's book. He would let him try to find some fame for himself, using Hannibal do to so. But he would remind him where he truly belonged. 

Frederick walked in behind her holding his arms behind his back.

Hannibal walked closer to the glass, studying them both. Alana's eyes were red, her cheeks were puffy. She had been crying. Frederick was tense, his posture rigid and taut. Something had happened. Hannibal's mind went through dozens of scenarios. What would have happened that it could have impacted both Alana and Frederick? Alana's child, Morgan Verger was doing quite well and was quite healthy. It was unlikely something had befallen him. Margot was well, as far as Hannibal knew and nothing involving her would bring Frederick here. Perhaps it was Jack. But if it were Jack, he didn't suspect both Frederick and Alana would show. Alana would, but not with Frederick tailing her. It wasn't Bedelia, who had been separate from Alana and Frederick. It was nothing to do with Chiyoh. The only other people who knew about her were Will and Bedelia. It was Will then. 

Something had happened with Will. 

"This is a bad idea," Frederick muttered, his eyes glued to Hannibal. He was watching him.

Hannibal ignored him and instead addressed Alana. "You've been crying." 

She straightened, forming her face into the mask she had been wearing for the last year. "I just returned from the hospital." 

Hannibal folded his hands behind his back, waiting. 

"I still think this is a bad idea." Frederick reiterated. 

"Your opinion has been noted, Frederick," Hannibal said. But he was focused on Alana. It was something with Will. Something that involved a hospital. 

His eyes narrowed, his heart began speeding in his chest. All the worst possible reasons for Will finding his way to the hospital ran through his mind. Why was he even there? He should be all right?

Was this fear?

"Will's in the hospital," Alana began slowly. Her eyes followed Hannibal's every movement and she knew that Hannibal had already surmised as much. 

"Why?" Hannibal did his best to keep his voice even. 

She straightened herself slightly, folding her hands in front of her. "He tried to commit suicide." 

Hannibal blinked. Of all the things that could have potentially landed Will in the hospital, he was not expecting suicide to be one of them. He was well aware that Will had self-destructive tendencies, he had seen as much when he stopped taking his antibiotics and when he continued to work with Jack and the BAU even when it was destructive for his psyche. There were other things, here and there, that indicated he might have a more self-destructive side, but he honestly never thought it would be enough to drive Will to suicide. He could, potentially, do suicide by proxy. Pick a fight with someone, as he tried to do with Hannibal, and let them take his life. He remembered Will's lack of fight in Florence, only pulling out the knife but nothing more. He didn't fight when Hannibal admitted he was feeding him soup to help his flavor, only commented that the soup didn't taste good. He didn't even so much as verbally fight when Hannibal pulled out the saw, he just sat there. The only time he ever seemed to care was with Mason and Cordell. Hannibal distinctly remembered watching Will rip out a chunk of Cordell's face with his teeth. What a beautiful sight that had been. 

Interesting.

Will had been willing to let his life end at Hannibal's hands. But not others. And now apparently his own. 

"How?" He asked.

Alana's eyes dropped to his arms and Hannibal felt his hands moving in front of him. Will had tried to kill him once before, by proxy. His proxy, Matthew Brown, had slit Hannibal's wrists in an attempt to drain him of his blood. He had also given him an alternative. He could kick the bucket he was balanced on and hang himself, rather than slowly bleed to death. And now it appeared Will had tried again, using the same method. They would have matching scars now. His eyes flicked over the edges of the scars at his wrists before pulling them behind his back once more.

It took considerable effort to keep the mask on his face. The calm, collected, ever in control mask, he had carefully crafted over the years. But he wasn't calm, he wasn't collected. In fact, he had never felt more out of control. Will wasn't within his reach. He couldn't do anything. He was waiting for him to come. Will was never truly predictable. There were things that even Hannibal could never have known the other man would do, despite everything. This was one of them. He was certain that at some point, Will would return. And he was content to wait until then, however long it took. Will's punishment for him, for everything, was making Hannibal wait. And now it seemed he almost made him wait until death to reunite them. 

This simply wouldn't do. And neither would his incarceration. How could he possibly stay here now? 

And that was what Frederick Chilton feared. Perhaps he should give Frederick a little more credit. He knew. But so did Alana, which is why she told him in person. It was a message delivery as much as it was a warning. 

So, he stood perfectly still, meeting Alana's eyes. He assumed there was nothing more to say between them. Nothing more they could say.

He could threaten her, and part of him was tempted to. He thought back a year to Muskrat Farm and the deal he and Alana had made. It was a deal for Will's life, something Alana didn't want to end and something Hannibal valued above all things, and as a result, she was rewarded with a wife and child. And Will lived. How quick he was to squander his value. Or perhaps it wasn't that quick. Given everything Will had likely been through, even before Hannibal entered his life, was enough to drive Will to the edge without Hannibal's help. It seemed he had finally pulled himself over. It wasn't the first edge Will had fallen beyond, but this certainly was an attempt to be the last.

And he failed.

Alana studied him carefully, knowing he was likely devising a plan to escape. To her credit, he was. He hadn't planned on needing to escape on his own. Will had a habit of upending his plans. Of course, he would upend this one too. 

It would be risky to escape tonight. They would be expecting it. And perhaps that would mean it would be the best time to escape. Tension, stress, often brought blind spots to people's vision. They would miss things even though it should be obvious. They would expect him to escape this night, which is why he could. He held Alana's eyes until she eventually turned, needing to leave the room. But he knew she still felt his gaze long after the doors closed. He promised her something, after all. She knew he would eventually follow through.

* * *

This was possibly the best week in Freddie's career. How could it not be? The only week that could possibly top it is the week she was resurrected from the dead with a fantastic, twisted story. And what a story it was to live. Part of her still shuddered every time she met Will Graham's eyes. She still remembered his barn. She still remembered him stalking her in the shadows. She remembered that dark look and the apparent enjoyment of her fear. She could see it in his eyes. Freddie knew she was lucky. If she had pushed Will Graham any more than she already had, she might have found her way to the grave for real. Though she still wished she could have attended her own funeral. How often was one provided that chance? But it was a risk. Will had been there, of course. As had Alana Bloom, she found out later. But the person they were expecting to show was Hannibal Lecter. The Chesapeake Ripper.

Will had been right about Hannibal's alter ego. And what a delicious story that led to. Frederick Chilton had already copyrighted "Hannibal the Cannibal." She was distraught to hear that. But eventually, Hannibal was caught and he confessed. And Freddie had the story of a lifetime. Or so she thought.

Now, though, that story had another layer. Will Graham tried to commit suicide. She didn't know how he was found, though it was lucky for him, or perhaps unlucky, that he was found before he bled out. He was rushed to the hospital where he was stitched up and placed in isolation. She knew there was some poetry to the way he tried to kill himself. He had made an attempt on Hannibal Lecter's life and that attempt included slitting his wrists to let him bleed out. And it seemed Will understood the poetry of killing himself the way he once nearly tried to kill the Ripper. But it wasn't just Will's suicide attempt that made news this week.

Hannibal Lecter escaped. It seemed that the night he heard about Will's suicide attempt was the night he escaped, vanishing into the world with yet another trail of bodies behind him. Freddie was ecstatic. 

What were the chances?

She knew, everything within her knew, that Hannibal would come for Will Graham. She didn't know when, she didn't know how. But she knew that he wouldn't be able to resist. 

The day after Will entered the hospital, she visited him. He was placed on a psychiatric hold and was restrained to the bed. She didn't know what he had done to earn himself the restraints, but she itched to take a picture. She was right about him, of course. Will Graham was insane. But if she took the picture, there would be no chance of him answering her questions. She weighed what would be worth more, his answers or the picture, and eventually decided to try the answers first. Worst case scenario, she snapped the picture and walked away without any answers. 

Will was facing the window when she entered. His wrists were bandaged and the restraints were higher on his arms. She worried they weren't enough to keep him from lashing out at her. He was stronger and smarter than the hospital staff clearly thought. His hair was in a few different directions, some curls falling over his forehead. He blinked slowly when she moved into his field of view and for a moment she wondered if he was too sedated to ask anything. But his eyes snapped to her, far too attentive for someone potentially sedated. While he remained in the same position, she knew his attention was now completely on her. 

"Hello, Will." She greeted, plastering on her best smile.

"Go away, Freddie." He didn't look away from her, knowing she would just enter his field of view once more. She had more freedom of movement at the moment than he did. 

"I just have a few questions, Will." She let her smile fall. "We've worked well together before. Surely we can be amicable for this."

"I don't care, Freddie." His voice was monotonous like he was a machine recorded message. It was strange given the sharpness of his eyes and the intensity of his attention. There was still so much curled under his skin, behind his deceptive eyes, but it wasn't shown in his voice. How interesting. Perhaps he truly did want to die. Perhaps the attempt had been genuine. For a while, she thought that maybe his attempt was to earn Hannibal Lecter's attention. But now, she couldn't help but think that it was Hannibal Lecter's attention that drove him to this.

"I died for you and your cause. The least you can do is talk to me." 

"You didn't die enough." Even though his words were harsh, his voice wasn't. There was no venom, nothing to indicate he meant them. But she knew he did. He shifted himself, pressing the call button. "Leave, Freddie." 

"Hannibal escaped," Freddie said, hoping the news would generate a reaction from him, a genuine reaction. But instead, he stared past her as if she wasn't there. 

"Good for him." Nurses entered the room. "Get her out of here, please." He shifted back into the position he had been in before. "I might kill myself for real if I have to see her again." 

Interesting. She made a mental note of his words before she was ushered from the room. She went willingly, even forgetting to snap the picture. His words, his actions, had been enough to write a juicy article out of. Should she go with lovesick? Clinically depressed? Psychotic break? She would say though that she was surprised at his lack of reaction at the news about Hannibal. She would have to explore that more in detail later.

As Freddie left the hospital, she glanced over, seeing a face that she could have sworn belonged to Hannibal Lecter. But he was gone as quickly as she saw him.

* * *

Hannibal was surprised at how easy it was for him to enter the hospital. He thought certainly with his escape security would be increased around Will. But there was only one officer, sitting guard outside Will's room. He waited throughout the day, watching the shift change and the people who came and went from Will's room. Jack appeared once. Frederick Chilton and Freddie Lounds too. Even Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller, both of whom looked more upset than Hannibal thought they would be. He didn't think there was much of a relationship between them and Will. Even Margot appeared at one point carrying a large bouquet flowers and a child. He didn't enter Will's room yet, but he could see him if he stood at the right angle. 

Will didn't appear to move throughout the day. He just stared out the window. The most that seemed to happen was when Freddie Lounds appeared. She spent maybe three minutes in Will's room before the call light was on and she was rushed away. He remembered working in the emergency room and how slowly call lights were answered. It wasn't the nurses' fault. It was hard to keep up with everything in an emergency room. So much always happened at once, which was one of the reasons he enjoyed the job. On the floors, however, it was easier for a nurse to answer a call light. It took less than a minute for Will's to be answered and Freddie was ushered from the room. He knew she saw him, he let her see him. But not for too long.

One of the things he also distinctly remembered about his work as an emergency room surgeon was the night shift. Hannibal never needed that much sleep, it was part of the reason he was able to balance his life with that of the Chesapeake Ripper. But even for him, the night shift was hard. People acclimated to it eventually, including him. But that never meant that come 3 o'clock in the morning, people didn't slow. It was like clockwork. Between 3 and 5, doctors moved slower, nurses moved slower. If there were scribes, they were fighting to stay awake. Unless there was an emergency, most were fading by the early morning hours. 

This night was no exception. 

The guard outside Will's room inevitably fell asleep, his head falling forward. He sat with his arms crossed, feet stretched out, and small snores echoing from him. It was dangerous for him to have his feet out like that. If a bed needed to be moved for some reason, he was blocking part of the hall. If it were a different day, Hannibal might consider how easily he could dispatch the officer. But he wasn't here to hunt. He wasn't even here to collect potential hunts for the future. He was here for one person and one person only. 

The nurses only ever looked up a few times, most chattering lowly amongst themselves to keep them awake. He had already seen the respiratory therapists do their latest set of rounds. They wouldn't be back for two more hours. Unless there was something urgent, most of the doctors were gone except for those on call. But there were always rooms for them to fall asleep in. Some even stayed at home unless they needed to come in. He had always been the type to stay at the hospital if he was needed. Emergencies were emergencies after all. They couldn't wait for him to drive there. 

He slipped into Will's room unseen. 

Will was fast asleep when he entered. He knew the other wouldn't be easily roused, especially not with the medications he had in his system. Hannibal had a chance earlier in the day, thanks to a nurse who was clearly violating HIPAA but he didn't seem to care, to evaluate Will's chart. It took some careful movements to acquire some extra medications for Will and to print a prescription that would be difficult to fill now that the world was on high alert for Hannibal, but he could manage. Perhaps, given his escape, Chiyoh would appear and he could ask for her help. He removed Will's restraints carefully, doing his best not to jostle the other's wrists. He remembered the pain he felt and he had a high pain tolerance. It was probably worse for Will. He took the chance he had to touch Will openly, brushing his hair back from his forehead and evaluating his sleeping face. Asleep, Will didn't look like the type who would have tried to commit suicide. He was peaceful, younger looking even. Hannibal could see the thick scar across his forehead from Hannibal's rather rash attempt to cut his head open. 

He was able to lift Will easily. Will actually felt like he weighed less than the last time Hannibal carried him and he felt a sting of worry that the other wasn't eating. What had happened in the six months since Hannibal had seen him? Will didn't wake as Hannibal shifted him in his arms. He didn't remove the heart monitor yet, instead taking a chance to move the guard into the room. He placed the heart monitor on the sleeping guard's hand. There was no variation between them. The nurses would probably think the guard went to the restroom. No one would notice Will was gone until long after they could do something about it. He carefully removed the IV drip and he bound Will's arm with some gauze he had grabbed earlier in the day. 

Removing Will from the room was where he had to be the most careful. While it was unlikely the nurses would notice someone walking through the halls by themselves, it was more likely they would notice someone walking through carrying someone else. It was pure luck and early morning obliviousness that allowed him to walk out of sight of the nurse's station without being spotted. He lowered Will gently into a wheelchair that he had strategically placed earlier in the day. Moving him between floors was easy and given the exit he chose to leave the building, it was unlikely he would run into anyone. He had been careful above covering his face, never looking too far up so the cameras could catch him. But given that a very asleep Will was being pushed around in the elevator, it wouldn't take a genius to know it was Hannibal doing it. Just as they reached the floor of their destination, he lifted his head, looking directly into the camera on the elevator, and winked. It was rash, he knew. But it was also fun and he often did things for his own amusement. 

There was no trouble removing Will from the hospital and less than 20 minutes after he had removed Will from his room, they were on the highway. Long gone.

* * *

Will fell asleep staring out the same window he had been looking at all day. He woke up with a different view.

He wasn't surprised, to say the least. He knew it would happen. Freddie wasn't the first person to tell him that Hannibal had escaped. Jack had been the first. He had also placed a patrol outside Will's room that seemed to be utterly useless given that he was now staring at the bright blue sky from a window that wasn't the one he had been in before. The room was small, smaller than that of an average apartment or cabin. And given the slow, steady rocking he was feeling, it wasn't on land at all. Or maybe that was his queasiness from the medication. He looked out the window again, watching a specific cloud that shifted up and down and eventually completely out of view. No. Not queasiness. He was on a boat.

He thought back to a little over a year ago, when he had built a boat to find Hannibal. He wondered what became of that boat. He hadn't left anything on it after he docked it. It probably belonged to someone else by now. Or was destroyed. Such a shame. It was a good boat and he had worked for a little over a year to restore it. But he didn't have that boat anymore. He wondered where they were.

Obviously, he was with Hannibal who was somewhere else on the boat. He knew, just as everyone else knew, that Hannibal would come for him. He didn't exactly know what would happen when he came, but he knew he would. He thought perhaps he would earn a chiding, and he still might. Or maybe Hannibal would try to kill him again. He might have his wish after all.

He continued to watch out the window as he thought about everything that had happened in the last week. It was a hard week.

Will had hit lows before. He was self-destructive and slightly depressed and that, compounded with alcohol and ever-present, agonizing thoughts and nightmares made waking up every day nearly impossible. The world seemed to constantly be crushing him, pressing in from all sides. It was too much. Everything was too much. The thoughts, the nightmares, the way he had to force himself up every day. He wasn't working for the FBI anymore, he didn't teach any classes. There was nothing really to distract him. There weren't even killers for him to catch anymore. They weren't interesting to him. The only person who was even remotely interesting to him anymore was somewhere else on the boat with him. 

He hadn't been trying to get Hannibal's attention, unlike what the other's likely thought. He knew that at least what Freddie Lounds thought when she delivered the news that Hannibal had escaped. She was hoping that she would see relief or maybe even joy at hearing the news. But Will didn't react. He wasn't certain he felt anything anymore. But he would be lying if he said Hannibal wasn't on his mind when he tried. He remembered his attempt on Hannibal's life. He remembered the slits on his wrist delivered by proxy. It seemed a fitting way to go. He would die in the same way he tried to kill Hannibal. And now they were both victims at his hands. And both had lived. 

There weren't restraints on his arms now. He could move if he wanted. He could do anything if he wanted, even jumping off the side of the boat and being lost to what he assumed was the Atlantic Ocean. But he didn't. Instead, he stayed where he was.

He was being honest when he told Freddie he didn't care. He didn't care about anything. He didn't feel anything. He just wanted it all to end. To slip away and there would be no more Will Graham. But he had been denied that. Someone had found him. Somehow, he lived. He didn't remember who found him. He didn't remember anything until he woke up in the hospital. He was surprised to find Alana at his side, eyes red and cheeks puffy. He wasn't certain she could show emotions to anyone who wasn't Margot or their child. The last time they had seen each other, she was far different. Harder. Stronger. She was always strong, this Will knew. But the Alana Bloom at Muskrat Farm was not the same Alana Bloom he met a few years before. He supposed that was likely the effect of Hannibal Lecter. Who among them — Jack, Alana, Miriam, Chiyoh, Abigail, Bedelia, himself — was not changed by Hannibal's influence? Perhaps that what Hannibal was. Abel Gideon had once called him the devil. But maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was a violent, chaotic agent of change. Either they changed — adapted, evolved, became — or they died. Rapid evolution bound in human flesh. 

The boat continued to rock under him, slowly. It was a nice day out. The sun was shining, the waves weren't choppy. He remembered the trip to Europe. Some days had been wretched at sea. He understood why it wasn't exactly the most popular way to travel the world. The waves were sometimes unforgiving. Some nights it was too choppy to sleep and some days it was almost completely silent, as though the world had paused completely. He never truly understood the myths of the sea until he was staring at that sapphire water with the sun touching the horizon and absolutely no land in sight. He had drifted there for a while and now he was drifting again. There was no land in sight for Will Graham. 

He watched the light shift as the sun traveled through the sky. He should probably use the restroom. The sun moved more. Hannibal didn't appear. He wondered where they were and where they were going. It appeared he didn't have much of a choice here. He was going wherever Hannibal wanted him. He supposed he wouldn't have had much control over his life if he had stayed where he was. Someone would be watching him, someone would make certain they knew what he was doing. By living, he was all but guaranteeing his autonomy was removed.

He thought about his dogs. He hoped they were all right. It was likely they were taken in by Alana who had watched his dogs several times before. They were probably happy to have the massive house and lots of land to run in. They were good dogs, they would be good around a child. 

Eventually, Will forced himself from the bed, mostly because his body demanded it. He swayed slightly, a little light-headed before he managed his way to the restroom. Given how nice the boat appeared to be, even with what little he had seen of it, he assumed it had better essentials for the restroom. Hannibal wouldn't tolerate anything else. He noticed the bandages on his wrists were changed, newly wrapped. They were more comfortable than the bandages at the hospital. He wasn't surprised. 

Because he was up already, he decided to venture out of the room. He knew, given the size of the bed and the state of the pillow next to him, that Hannibal had likely slept in the same bed. He didn't care.

Perhaps his lack of caring was something he should bring up to his therapist. 

The afternoon sun was bright when he finally entered it. It was like a blazing spotlight shining right into his face. He blinked a few times adjusting to the sudden increase in light. The boat was bigger than he thought, likely with a full kitchen. But he didn't care about that. He wanted to be on deck. He wanted to see something, anything really. 

He walked forward to the bow, seeing a set of chairs already set up. He got a sense of the size of the boat now. It was fairly decent. Larger than the boat he had taken across the world. He sat in one of the chairs, watching the boat cut through the water. He knew there was another set of eyes on him, watching him, but he focused ahead of him. Sometimes he watched the water, sometimes he looked toward the horizon. Perhaps this was why man invented God. That damned horizon and the endless possibilities of what lie beyond.

He sat back in the chair, crossing his legs in front of him and folding his hands over his abdomen. He had noticed before that his clothes were changed from the hospital garb to a pair of loose shorts and a t-shirt. Fitting given the warm air. They were headed south, somewhere; and had seemingly moved far overnight. It was winter at home. The air wasn't hot, so they weren't quite at the equator. Probably somewhere the 70's. Or maybe it had been more than one day. Even with a fast boat, it would take more than a night to travel this far. It had to have been several days. Strange he was asleep for that long. Or he could have been awake at some point, likely had to be to eat and relieve himself, but he couldn't remember. The drugs no doubt. 

He assumed a boat like this must have had autopilot, especially given that he was eventually joined at the bow.

He didn't need to look over to know that Hannibal was there. He just knew. 

They sat in silence for a while, Will looking ahead of them and Hannibal looking at him. 

"I built a boat," Will said, suddenly needing to break the silence. Hannibal was silent, likely due to the strangeness of Will's declaration. "It's how I found my way there."

He didn't need to explain where "there" was. They both knew. 

"A plane ticket might have been simpler." 

He could have sworn his heart skipped a beat at suddenly hearing that voice again.

"I'm not a simple person." 

"No. You aren't." 

Was he still able to feel?

"What now?"

"I think we've done enough to each other, and to ourselves. Don't you?" 

He would never cease to be amazed that Hannibal always knew exactly what he was talking about. 

"And what of forgiveness?"

"You're already aware of my forgiveness. What remains to be seen is yours."

"You don't think I've forgiven you?"

He could almost see Hannibal's lips twitch, even though he wasn't looking at him. "It wasn't me I was referring to." Will swallowed thickly. "Why?" Hannibal asked after a moment.

"It was too much. All of it was too much."

"You were alone." Will's head dropped slightly. It should annoy him that Hannibal was right. He was alone. He had said it before. They were alone without each other. "Will you try again?" 

Will shrugged noncommittally. 

"Will," Hannibal's voice was almost annoyingly soft and it made his throat clench slightly. He looked over at him, finally.

Hannibal's hair was shorter than he was used to. But everything else was exactly as he remembered. The sharpness of his cheekbones, the intensity of his amber eyes, the curve of his lips, the tension of his body. How had he not noticed Hannibal was the Ripper immediately? Sitting before him now was the same man who had always sat before him. He was a killer. A killer who for some reason had found his Achilles heel in Will.

_Achilles wished all Greeks would die, so he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone. It took divine intervention to bring them down._

He had been his own divine intervention. Was it divine intervention once more that left him alive and returned him to Hannibal?

"You don't have to bear it all alone." 

He felt himself smirk slightly. "I'm not alone. Not anymore." 

"If I am to be forgiven, and you are to be forgiven, perhaps then the Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham of the past should be put to rest." He reached over, gently grabbing Will's wrist and turning it. He knew under the bandages were wounds that would yield identical scars to the ones on Hannibal's wrists that now saw the light of day.

"Who are we to be then?" 

"Whoever we want."

"And who are we to each other?"

"Whatever you want." 

"And what about what you want?" 

Hannibal smirked slightly. "I have what I want. I'll leave the rest to you." 

He moved to let go of Will's wrist but he caught him. "And what if it's not what I want, but what I need?" 

"Take what you need." 

It didn't take much to shrink the space between them. He knew Hannibal would likely chide him later about him dragging the other's chair closer with his injured wrists.

"I need to feel something." He and Hannibal were incredibly close. "Make me feel something."

Hannibal's other hand raised to his face, his thumb running over his cheek. Their lips met gently and Will's eyes fluttered shut.

There was his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://neurowriter14.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NWriter14)


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